"Come here," he said. "I want to show you something."
April moved closer. Found herself leaning in over his shoulder again, except this time she noticed she was doing it. The screen showed an email thread.
FROM: Chad Sterling
TO: Executive Leadership Team
SUBJECT: Q2 Campaign Strategy
Hi clown troupe,
I wanted to loop you in on our campaign metrics...
April felt her mouth twitch.
Below it, a reply:
FROM: Jennifer Park, CMO
TO: Chad Sterling
Chad,
Is this some kind of joke?
And what’s with your email signature?
She read Chad’s signature at the bottom:
CHAD STERLING – VP OF MARKETING
(Sent from my tiny car)
The laugh escaped before she could stop it.
Jax was grinning at the screen. "He’s sent four emails in the last ten minutes. 'Clown troupe' has appeared in all of them."
"That’s—" April couldn’t finish. She was laughing too hard.
"Tuesday-level, I didn’t think it would be this satisfying. Thought I’d want more."
The laughter faded.
She turned from the screen to look at him. "I thought you hated me."
"Hated you?" he repeated, like he’d never considered the concept as applied to her.
"Jax. You’ve been—" She gestured between them, then toward the building. The last two years of him being a hoodie-shaped ghost who appeared only when things broke. "You’re cold. You glare. You talk to me like I’m a ticket."
"That’s not…" He dragged a hand over the back of his neck, eyes flicking away to the server racks, the lights.
"I don’t…" he tried again, quieter. "I didn’t hate you. I was containing myself."
"Okay, then explain something to me."
Jax went still. "That sounds like a trap."
"It’s not," she said. "It’s a data request."
